May 22 2009

Text By Greg Fallis

Someone will come. Twenty minutes, an hour, three—it makes no difference. Someone will come and then we will play chess. Perhaps we'll talk as we play. Slow, meaningless talk that barely deserves to be called conversation. Perhaps we'll sit in silence, focused on the board, plotting out our moves, most of which we'll never make.

Someone will come. And if not—no matter. I'm perfectly content to sit here, alone in the park, quietly considering moves made in the past. Memories slide by as soft and unhurried as the sunlight and the shadows of trees. Some memories, like the sunlight, offer a fleeting moment of warmth; others, like shadows, give a brief chill. They both pass quickly enough at this age, and neither is a source of real discomfort.

Someone will come. If not today, then tomorrow. There is no hurry. Patience is what you acquire when you no longer have a reason to be impatient.